


Chocobo Chocolates

by Anonymous



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Fan Culture - Freeform, M/M, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Secret Relationship, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-26
Updated: 2021-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-27 18:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30126930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: When Sephiroth receives a boxload of chocolates for Valentines' Day even though he doesn't care for chocolate, he senses that something is off.
Relationships: Sephiroth/Rufus Shinra
Kudos: 7
Collections: Worldbuilding Exchange 2021





	Chocobo Chocolates

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Neurotoxia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neurotoxia/gifts).



> Neurotoxia, you asked some really fascinating questions and I wish I could have touched upon them all. Still, I hope that this small offering satisfies some part of your curiosity! :D
> 
> The spelling for "Valentines' Day" is correct in this instance. I'm making a canon in-joke here, in case that wasn't obvious. If anyone sends me flames for this, they will be used to roast marshmallows.
> 
> Also, you may consider this mildly canon-divergent, in the sense that the Wutai War has ended, but no bad things have happened right after. It's only noticeable if you *really* care about the Crisis Core timeline, which I hope you don't, hence why I didn't tag it. What's fanfic without a little handwaving of canon, amirite?

The desk lining the western wall of Lazard's office groans under the weight of the box Sephiroth deposits on it. Ever since Lazard's secretary went on maternity leave, it's been unused save as a last-minute strategy briefing site before missions. And since the man has as yet omitted to search for a replacement, it will likely be used as such for the foreseeable future. No reports are covering it today, so Sephiroth has the choice of place.

Lazard looks up from his monitor, startled by the noise. 

"What is this?" he asks.

"A donation."

"Donation? For whom?"

"The other SOLDIERs, if they wish."

Curiosity piqued, Lazard joins Sephiroth to inspect the box. It's a plain cardboard one, the type you can get anywhere, though scuffed and dented from use. The lady in the mailroom was kind enough to provide it.

"That's very kind of you," Lazard says reflexively.

The moment he folds aside the flaps to look at the contents, however, he shoots Sephiroth a frown as though suspecting him to have raided the closest supermarket himself. He picks up one of the smaller artisan boxes inside. They're octagonal in shape, barely bigger than both of his hands, and their glossy packaging is composed largely of mocha brown and vanilla tones. The logo is a cute chocobo head with a gold-embossed banner beneath it that reads _Chocobo Chocolates._ Underneath that is another chocobo in a racing posture, the colour of its plumage corresponding to the flavour of chocolate you'd find inside.

"Aren't these sinfully expensive? You shouldn't have."

Sephiroth supposes they must be. _Chocobo Chocolates,_ commonly also referred to as ChocoboX, is a seasonal brand only available for Valentines' Day and a popular gift to show appreciation to the loved ones in your life. Given their limited supply, it has become customary to present them to a love interest or a very special person in one's life.

And for some reason, Sephiroth has received them by the crateful. The mailroom supervisor had messaged him this morning to let him know he had express deliveries waiting for him. She failed to convey how _much_ was waiting for him, however. He'd already foisted some of them on her and her staff. ("No, really, I can't possibly claim all these for myself. You would do me a great favour if you took some off my hands.") He somehow managed to convince them that accepting a few would help to lighten the load he'd have to carry out of there.

"That is why I'd like for them to be distributed," he says. "It would be a shame if they went to waste."

"Naturally," Lazard agrees and helps Sephiroth arrange them on the desk.

As they lay out the boxes, Sephiroth wonders what it says about the state of the senders' lives if they consider him their best choice of recipient – how lonely they must be. He knows a thing or two about loneliness. 

But perhaps there is another meaning to these chocolates that he's not aware of. He's no scholar, but the connections between the Valentines, chocobos, and loved ones has always seemed fraught to him. Genesis has called him "culturally illiterate" on occasion, and while he may be onto something, it's anyone's guess what Genesis counts as culture. (So far, the only indication Sephiroth has is his obsession with _Loveless,_ which is not much of an indication at all. Sephiroth likes poetry in general and he even finds the pentameter used in the latest stage version of _Loveless_ to be pleasant enough. Unfortunately, the appeal of the story lessens with each subsequent interpretation and reimagining. Which seems to be all there is. So if you asked him, the real gift of the goddess would be an end to the endless cycles of repetitiveness.) 

In any case, Sephiroth is left to his own musings which, of course, lead him nowhere. His interest is not strong enough to invest more time than a quick Moogle search that tells him everything about Valentines' Day except for its origin.

"Can you do me another favour?" he asks once all boxes have been stacked on the desk, sorted by flavour.

"What is it?"

"When you distribute them, don't say they're from me."

With that, he leaves, not giving Lazard the opportunity to ask any follow-up questions. 

It's simple, really: Sephiroth can't take the credit. And he doesn't want the attention either. He didn't buy these chocolates with the intent of handing them out to his fellow SOLDIERs. Yet if any one of them knew that he was the one to give them to Lazard in the first place, it would be misconstrued as an act of altruism no matter what he has to say about it. Especially if he says nothing, as is his wont.

* * *

The next official item on his agenda is a mission briefing with Heidegger, but he swings by the virtual training rooms for a quick sparring session with Angeal and Genesis before that. In Midgar, these sessions are the closest thing to a real challenge he'll be likely to face. No one else matches them in strength. And still he feels himself holding back.

Genesis is, as usual, quite bad-tempered about coming up short and he tries to conceal it by quoting _Loveless_ at him. As if he somehow wanted to imply that his defeat was preordained because the goddess had willed it. 

Heidegger, on the other hand, is in good cheer and has no need to hide it. Which is puzzling to Sephiroth, because the mission he receives sounds like nothing the top brass would be happy about. The residents at Fort Condor are denying Shinra employees access to the local reactor. There has been increased monster activity in the area, so no outsider is allowed into the mountain. Sephiroth is to eliminate the threat and escort the engineers to the reactor.

This mission comes not a moment too soon and Sephiroth is glad for it. He was beginning to feel restless again, the way he usually does when he stays in one place for a while. Something is always pulling at him, no matter where he is. It's become a familiar feeling by now, but if he's presented with the opportunity to tune it out for a bit, he'd be a fool not to take it.

Sephiroth would never admit it out loud, but sometimes he misses the adrenaline-soaked battles during the war. That yearning had been there as well, but it had been overshadowed by the immediacy of the life-or-death situations. Ever since the war had ended, Sephiroth has been feeling adrift. What good is a weapon like him if it's not used? What other purpose _could_ he fulfill.

At least slaying monsters will provide him with a suitable distraction.

* * *

After the briefing Sephiroth has some time before he'll need to oversee the 2nd class's training, so he heads up to the executive level for an early lunch. SOLDIERs have a cafeteria of their own, apart from the regular infantry, but as a 1st class he is also welcome to use the facilities open to Shinra's senior executives. The younger SOLDIERs envy him the better food that is served in the lounge, but that's not the reason Sephiroth goes out of his way to have his lunch up there.

His gaze sweeps over the seating area, the way it always does. Even though few people use the lounge at any given time, it is as spacious as anything on the lower floors. Perhaps even more so, considering that everything is on a grander scale here. The clever arrangement of greenery allows for a modicum of privacy at the individual tables while filling the gaps that would otherwise have made the room look empty. Sunlight streams through the ceiling-high windows, stripped of its heat.

Sephiroth rounds the central pillar, and his step falters for a moment when he sees Angeal and Genesis already occupying his favoured spot. The mild sense of disappointment he feels is not because his usual seat is taken, but because the one across from it is not.

It's where he usually finds Rufus on his PHS, fondling a glass of sparkling water, his plate of food mostly untouched. Sephiroth rarely joins him ‒ either because he himself has company or because Rufus does. And anyway, if the second-in-command sits down with "Shinra's strongest weapon," it's bound to get tongues wagging. Rumours will start swirling about how Rufus plans to take down his father with Sephiroth's help, as though Rufus weren't perfectly capable to manoeuvre his father from the throne by himself. 

Either way, it might invite scrutiny that neither of them cares for. So Sephiroth sits a table away from him, sometimes with Angeal and Genesis who decided to keep him company, and basks in his presence from afar. The amused look from Rufus that says he knows Sephiroth is watching is more than enough for him.

Now, Sephiroth walks up to the counter to order his meal. Other patrons prefer to have someone wait on them, but he finds this easier. A lot of the staff are nervous around him, at least on the lower levels. Here, they're either used to his presence or too well-trained and polite to let their nerves show.

He picks the special, as he does every time. Today it's mushroom udon with a side of simmered squash. He could have the kitchen prepare anything to his specification provided they have the right ingredients on hand, but he values efficiency. 

When he joins Angeal and Genesis at their table, he notices their conversation change. It's not like it halts abruptly ‒ it becomes slower and more deliberate, to accommodate an outsider, one who doesn't speak the shared language they've refined since childhood.

Sometimes he envies them the open, uncomplicated friendship that they have. It's apparent to anyone who sees them that they've known each other for a long time. His own relationship with Rufus is... well, it's not that detectable, for one thing.

With the awkward greetings out of the way, Genesis inquires how his meeting with Heidegger went. He seems to have moved on from their training session, but maybe he's fishing for something juicy that would make him feel better.

"The usual," Sephiroth says and takes a bite from a piece of squash. "He wants me to kill a few monsters and intimidate a few villagers."

"Are you sure you have it the right way around?" Genesis jokes. "You never know with Heidegger."

"Pretty sure, but you're welcome to check for me."

"I think I'll pass on that one," Genesis says and tosses his hair. "I'd rather get my briefings from Lazard."

"Speaking of Lazard," Angeal cuts in smoothly, "have you been to see him today?"

Sephiroth schools his features and tries to take on an air of nonchalance as he asks, "Why? Does he have another mission for me?"

"I would say it's better than that," Genesis says, and tosses something onto the table.

It's one of the boxes that Sephiroth had left in Lazard's office this morning. So they're making the rounds already. Good.

Genesis smiles. "He's giving out free chocolates."

Sephiroth picks up the box and pretends he's never seen it before. This one has a black chocobo and the writing _Dark Chocolate_ in cursive on it.

"You can have this one if you like," Genesis says magnanimously. "I heard they're your favourites."

"Oh?" Sephiroth cocks his head. That's new. "Where have you heard that?"

Sephiroth cannot tell whether Genesis is pulling his leg or not. He was under the impression that Genesis would know that he doesn't particularly care for the taste of chocolate, at least not enough to have any opinions, much less favourites. Then again, whenever Sephiroth divulges information about himself, both his friends react with genuine surprise as though they would never have guessed.

Now, Genesis is frowning at him as though Sephiroth were pulling _his_ leg.

"Your newsletters, of course."

Spoken as if Sephiroth knew their contents by heart. 

"Which one?" he asks. Although he doesn't follow any of them, he's aware that several exist. Rufus finds them entertaining. Most are fan-run and appear to be about promoting him rather than about spreading baseless rumours, though.

"Oh, to be as popular as you are." Genesis throws himself back against his seat, arms crossed.

"Don't mind him," Angeal says and throws Genesis a glance that likely only they can decipher. "He's just upset that his own newsletters aren't raking in the same numbers as yours are."

"I wasn't aware that this is a competition," Sephiroth says. He's weary of this topic and regrets that his fame has to come between them at times. If Genesis wants the attention so much, Sephiroth would gladly give it. But these things are not up to him.

"With you, everything is," Genesis says, his smile tight. "And none of us can win."

Stunned, Sephiroth watches Genesis pick up his tray and leave. He didn't expect him to take his loss earlier this hard. Or is there something else going on that Sephiroth is missing?

"Should I let him win next time?" Sephiroth asks, following his friend's retreating back.

Angeal shakes his head. "That would only make it worse. He knows he can't win, but that doesn't stop him from trying. And between us, he'd be insufferable if he actually won ‒ even if you helped."

This is another reason why he misses the war: at least then they were fighting side by side instead of against each other. Genesis would have another chance of attaining the glory he so craves.

"Found it!" Angeal's voice calls Sephiroth back to the present.

Handing over his PHS, Angeal shows him the newsletter that claims he likes _Chocobo Chocolates._ It's definitely not the official Shinra newsletter, which is mostly technical and dry. Sephiroth scrolls through it. And scrolls through it some more. Angeal has a separate Sephiroth inbox that gathers everything from promotion material to his various newsletters. There's _Silver Elite_ and _Sephiroth Underground_ and some other variations on his name or the colour silver.

Suddenly the pieces are starting to click into place. Why Zack thought his favourite animal was some spiny deep-sea creature he'd never even heard of before, or why he'd been asked to appear on the radio show _Good Morning Midgar._ His mind is reeling with this new information, trying to understand why someone would go through the trouble of spreading these rumours about him ‒ attention and ad revenue, no doubt ‒ when he spots a familiar picture. One he is quite sure is not part of Shinra's official press photos. It shows him reading right here in the lounge, with his book propped so that the cover is not visible; the corresponding newsletter claims that it was _Murder in Mideel,_ a beach read he picked up for his stay at the spa.

Sephiroth has never heard of this book nor has he had the pleasure of staying at a spa in Mideel, but he knows who took that picture.

His chair scrapes across the polished floor as he stands. It doesn't topple over, despite the abruptness of his movement ‒ it's too heavy for that. A necessity with SOLDIERs.

"I have to go," he says, leaving his tray mostly untouched.

* * *

The office he storms into all but dwarfs Lazard's and is rivalled in size only by the executive suites the other board members call their home within the Shinra Tower. Though the other executives have decked out their offices with their personal touch, this one seems comparatively bare, despite the current occupant's distinctive tastes.

Then again, Sephiroth's own office looks like a temporary fixture even though he's been there for years. He just prefers not to be. He's pretty sure Rufus views this office and its chromed finish in a similar way. If he expected to stay long, he would have already hung up at least one of the paintings he likes to acquire: abstract pieces that are both simple and complex, and never grasped at a single glance. 

Rufus is sitting at his desk ‒ or perhaps lounging would be the better description: his ankles are crossed on the desk and he's leaning so far back in his chair he's almost lying on it. Next to the desk, Dark Nation is resting on the gleaming floor. He merely lifts his head when Sephiroth strides in, yawns, and settles back down. Not quite the usual reaction Sephiroth evokes, but one that amuses him nonetheless. It signals that Dark Nation doesn't see him as a threat to Rufus.

"General," Rufus greets him with a teasing lilt for his rank ‒ a quiet injoke owing to their meeting place, if you will.

Outside of their private quarters, Rufus prefers a sort of mock formality that is as arrogant on the surface as it is tongue-in-cheek underneath. No one would question him; no one would look twice at their interaction if he's like this. 

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He swings his feet from the desk, but doesn't stand. Sephiroth is once again struck by his uncanny resemblance to Lazard. It can be mildly off-putting at times. Especially when Rufus is relaxing in the confines of his own four walls and wearing his reading glasses instead of his contact lenses. Or when Sephiroth is supposed to be paying attention to what Lazard is saying but is instead thinking only of Rufus and how _he_ would be relaying the same information to him.

Sephiroth stops in front of the desk, places the box of chocolates onto it, and slides it over meaningfully. Rufus's sharp gaze flicks up at him.

"Valentines' chocolates?" His lips twitch. "Why, Seph, that's positively _sweet_ of you." He picks it up and glances at the writing that says _Dark Chocolate._ "Or should I say 'bitter,' in this case?"

His eyes find Sephiroth's again, and Sephiroth has to hold onto his annoyance with both hands. Rufus has the prettiest blue eyes he's ever seen, and the colour is not even real. It was once, of course, before Sephiroth inadvertently helped Rufus to develop a mako addiction. One of the drawbacks of being a SOLDIER and, thus, a walking mako battery. Too much exposure will do that.

Since then, his eyes have taken on an unnatural iridescence; not glowing like a SOLDIER's but still recognisable enough to anyone who knows what they're looking for. To forestall the prejudice he'd no doubt face, especially as Shinra heir, he had coloured contact lenses fashioned that would make eyes appear blue again.

It's the kind of icy blue that's causing some wires to fritz in Sephiroth's head. He wants to step around the desk, pick Rufus up out of his chair, and shake him ‒ or, alternately, kiss him senseless, but that is not why he's here. Rufus would misunderstand his intention.

"What's this about?" Rufus asks. "You don't usually observe pop cultural practices, especially ones this sentimental."

"An entire bottle of shampoo?" Sephiroth says by way of reply. "Really?"

The moment Rufus laughs, Sephiroth's suspicions are confirmed. An ordinary person would not have been able to make heads or tails out of his non-sequitur of a question, but Rufus is no ordinary person. He's the originator of this nonsense Sephiroth just had to read about.

"It seems I am found out," Rufus says and wipes his eyes. "To be fair, the credit for that particular detail goes to another one of your fan clubs."

Sephiroth pauses to imbue his next word with sufficient meaning. "Why?" 

Rufus arches an eyebrow at him as if to counter with a _You even have to ask?_

"You're bored," Sephiroth answers for him. Because when is Rufus not? It seems only to have gotten worse, not better, since he became vice-president. 

"Dreadfully so," Rufus sighs.

Sephiroth is not falling for this. He crosses his arms, both to broadcast his displeasure as well as to shield himself from sympathising with Rufus's misery.

"And your solution is to spread lies about me?"

He understands the frustration of not being able to live up to one's potential, but surely there are other avenues he could pursue that are less revealing about Sephiroth's ‒ albeit fake ‒ private life. Hundreds of people seem to believe those details, some of them people he works with every day.

"You make it sound so ill-intentioned." Rufus grimaces and it's the first honest reaction Sephiroth has seen from him since he entered his office. "Is that what you think of me?"

"I don't know what to think of your intentions half the time."

"Good," Rufus smiles impishly and steeples his fingers. "Keeps up an air of mystery."

"I'd rather you dispel that air with a few answers."

"Ask, then."

Sephiroth throws up his hands. "Why this newsletter? Why go through so much trouble? Couldn't you have just, I don't know, continued breeding your racing chocobo if you're so bored?"

"Mh, I already did." Rufus puts his PHS face down onto the desk and stands. "And I'll be checking up on them again tomorrow. So thank you for the chocolates, they'll make an excellent present for their caretaker. That is, assuming you don't mind if I re-gift them?"

Sephiroth feels a tug of disappointment to learn that Rufus won't be around tomorrow, thereby effectively nullifying their chances to accidentally ‒ or _"accidentally"_ ‒ run into each other, even though Sephiroth himself won't be in Midgar either. To cover it, he shoots Rufus a withering look.

Rufus, as usual, knows exactly why he has earned himself any of Sephiroth's pointed stares and intuits correctly that it has nothing to do with the proposed re-gifting of the chocolates Sephiroth gave him. They were meant as a conversation starter, not a gift, anyway.

"But to answer your question." He holds up his hands in an appeasing gesture as he closes the space between them. "Because there are people out there who adore and admire you, and who want to know more about you. All I'm doing is giving them what they want."

"There's an official newsletter taking care of that."

Rufus scoffs. "Please, have you had a look at it?" he asks, brushing Sephiroth's bangs out of his face. "All it does is hail you as the crown of creation while never failing to point out that it was the Science Department's achievements that made you who you are. It doesn't really satisfy anyone's curiosity."

"So of course you decided to take matters into your own hands."

"My own, much more _capable_ hands."

Rufus tugs a strand of hair over Sephiroth's shoulder. Sephiroth grabs his wrist. Sometimes he wonders if Rufus knows how lucky he is. Anyone else would have lost their hand already, or would be feeling a lot of pain in it right now.

"That you used to paint a false picture of me."

"Not a false picture: a relatable one," Rufus corrects him, winding the silver strand around his forefinger. Sephiroth supposes he must know and keeps testing how far he can go.

"How does being relatable make it any less wrong?"

"Here's something you may not know about the human psyche, or choose to ignore: most people, they're not interested in the truth." Rufus crooks his finger, tugging at Sephiroth's scalp. "What they want is comfort, and that's what I'm offering them."

"By writing puff pieces about me." Sephiroth swallows, but forces himself to eye Rufus critically.

"Exactly."

"How is any of that comforting?"

Rufus shrugs and lets go of Sephiroth's hair. As quickly as that Sephiroth feels uprooted, without an anchor. But only for the second it takes for him to catch himself again.

"It shows people you're just like them. That you like music and listen to the radio and—"

"—and have strange opinions about amphibians."

Sephiroth watches him stride toward the sofa in the right-hand side of his office. What it lacks in grandeur compared to the furniture in the president's office, it makes up for in discomfort. Sephiroth has had the misfortune of trying it out and came to the conclusion that stone benches have better cushioning. He moves to join Rufus nevertheless. 

Behind him, Dark Nation snorts and gets up, padding up to his owner, his nails ticking on the floor tiles. 

"You may call them strange, but others may agree with them."

Rufus somehow manages to make even flopping onto a sofa look superior, something that never fails to amuse Sephiroth. Sometimes he wonders whether it's in his blood or whether his ennui unlocks hidden superpowers in him.

Dark Nation leaps onto the free space between Rufus and the armrest, which doesn't leave him much room to lie down again. So he just sits on his haunches. 

"Sounds like it's a platform for your own strange opinions," Sephiroth says, walking around the coffee table to the other end of the sofa.

"Would you rather I aired yours?" 

Rufus fixes him with a mischievous stare while he scratches Dark Nation's ears. Sephiroth supposes that his usual visitors find that image suitably intimidating, but such tactics are wasted on Sephiroth, if they're indeed what Rufus is going for.

"Well, no," he says and balances himself on the edge of the sofa. "I'd rather you shut it down completely."

Dark Nation growls, as though reading his owner's thoughts. Rufus clicks his tongue, though Sephiroth can't guess whether it's to shush Dark Nation or in response to what he said.

"Now, don't be a spoilsport," Rufus resumes pleasantly. "Your fans are not going to like that."

"You mean, _you're_ not going to like that."

"That's true, I wouldn't. It would mean I have to find something else to do with my time, since my father is determined not to give me any _actual_ work within the company."

Rufus sighs dramatically.

"I'm sure you'll manage," Sephiroth brushes him off, inoculated to such displays of woe-is-me. "Your talents are wasted on this."

"You know that flattery will get you nowhere." Though Rufus looks at him with a smile that suggests they both know that sometimes it does.

"So you're going to do it?" Sephiroth tries not to sound hopeful. He thinks he already knows the answer.

Rufus's smile turns roguish, as though he, too, is thinking the same. 

"I can't promise anything."

Sephiroth rolls his eyes. "Now why did I know you were going to say that?"

"Guess you just know me so well."

Rufus reaches up to brush his knuckles over Sephiroth's cheek. Sephiroth should go. He came here to say what he had to say and now he has a training session to see to.

But as usual, he finds it difficult to leave Rufus's presence. Even as aggravating as he can be, Rufus is a source of calm to him, an oasis in the desert of his longing. That feeling of striving towards something that is his constant companion goes away when he is with Rufus. He knows that Rufus is not the source of that yearning, but as long as Sephiroth doesn't know what is, it's still nice to have a respite from it.

"You said you're going to check up on your chocobo tomorrow," Sephiroth says, suddenly remembering.

"On the way back, yes."

"Your way back from what?"

"Why, didn't Heidegger elaborate? I will have to have a talk with him." Rufus throws himself back against the sofa and returns to stroking Dark Nation, who has curled up against his lap. "I'm going to Fort Condor tomorrow and you'll be my escort."

"But you said your father didn't confer any Shinra business to you."

"Who said he's behind this?" Rufus winks. 

"You planned this? Then the reports are fake?" And here Sephiroth had been quite looking forward to taking down monsters, since there's nothing else challenging him these days.

"Oh, the reports are real. I may have just embellished them a little before they landed on Heidegger's desk. You know, all in the interest of Fort Condor's safety."

Sephiroth smiles wryly. The day Rufus takes an interest in anything that doesn't further his own agenda will be a strange one indeed.

"I was thinking we inspect the reactor in the morning, leave our techs there, and while I take the airship up to the farm, you work your way through the mines. That way you get your exercise, I get to see my chocobos, and we can both be back in Midgar for dinner. Unless you had other plans or ideas."

"No, that sounds... perfect, actually."

A thrill runs through Sephiroth and he has to keep himself from leaning over and kissing Rufus. While Rufus might enjoy that, to Sephiroth it would be akin to throwing himself at him. Quite undignified. And yet, Rufus's self-assured smile has taken on a youthfully excited quirk, making it all the harder to resist. 

"Have you guessed what the best part is yet?" Rufus asks in a low voice, eyes equally drawn to Sephiroth's lips.

"No."

Sephiroth had intended to sound decisive, but when Rufus scooted closer so their knees touched, his voice raised a little at the end. 

"Well, as long as we're on the airship together, you can keep me company to personally ensure that I don't write any newsletters without your permission. We could, for example, return to our previous discussion on the feasibility of breeding chocobos as battle mounts."

Dark Nation lets out a whine of protest because Rufus moved, and for a shocked second, Sephiroth thought the sound might have originated from his own throat. It doesn't help that Rufus is slipping his fingers beneath Sephiroth's coat, against his bare chest. Sephiroth coughs discreetly.

"You make it sound like you think you could _get_ my permission." 

"I keep my options open. Think about it: you could clear nonsensical details for me to spin a story around. That way you get to join in the fun."

"You really know how to sell something you're passionate about, don't you?"

"I know how to sell _you_ to the masses." Rufus smiles. "Not that it's difficult when everyone is crazy about you."

Rufus has been leaning closer all this time, and perhaps Sephiroth has been too mesmerised by his lips to notice that Rufus has been giving him ample time to refuse his advance. The moment Rufus kisses him, Sephiroth's spine stiffens. It's not that he doesn't want this, it's that it always startles him when Rufus kisses him here. 

His office, like any other place here in the tower, is outfitted with surveillance cameras. So they generally avoid any displays that could give away their relationship. Sephiroth should have realised that Rufus must have taken care of the issue when he played with his hair earlier. Though at this point, he wouldn't be surprised if Rufus got bored of hiding and decided to blow this secret wide open and see how long it takes for anyone to catch on. All without consulting Sephiroth beforehand. 

"The cameras?" he asks, just to be on the safe side. And perhaps he's just as reckless as Rufus, because he doesn't stop kissing him either.

Perhaps he should have, because it takes too long for him to get his answer. 

"Yesterday's footage."

The dread of discovery makes way to a crashing wave of relief. Chaos has been averted for another day.

"Did you know I was going to come kick in your door?"

"Door still looks fine, but no, not exactly. I just take precautions. Every time I send out a newsletter could be the day you finally connect the dots."

Rufus places his palm against Sephiroth's chest and, well, _suggests_ that Sephiroth lie down on the sofa, since he's not actually strong enough to push him. Sephiroth would have loved to follow that suggestion, was even about to brush his hair out of the way, when he remembers his prior engagement. It must have slipped his mind again.

"I have to go," he says, jolting straight-up.

"No," Rufus says right back and tries to distract him from leaving by kissing his neck.

"I have training to supervise."

"Pff, they'll be happy without an instructor," Rufus argues, his breath a pleasant tickle against Sephiroth's skin.

"I never miss a session."

"So, this'll be a first."

"Questions might arise."

"I'm sure they will."

"As to my whereabouts."

"Say you were out shopping."

"I couldn't corroborate it."

"No one's gonna demand proof from _you."_

"Still, I set a standard. I ought to be able to live up to it myself."

"Fine." Rufus relents and sits back, patting his hair into place. "We'll shelve this until tomorrow."

 _Tomorrow..._ He still can't believe he gets to spend his entire day with Rufus in an official capacity. Minus the time he'll be trekking through the mines, but that's negligible since he'll be seeing Rufus on the other side again.

He hasn't felt this excited in a long time.

"Can't wait," he says, squeezing Rufus's hand in lieu of kissing him goodbye. That is unlikely to go well. For him and his class, at least. "But don't think I'm not still annoyed with you."

"I'm sure we can work something out tomorrow," Rufus says and his smirk makes the heat in Sephiroth's cheeks flare.

"Until tomorrow then," he says in clipped tones and turns on his heels ‒ before he takes Rufus up on the offer right now.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're so inclined, let me know what your favourite worldbuilding detail was! :D


End file.
